


The Drunk Mind, The Sober Heart

by GravityCanFly



Series: Cabin Pressure [8]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AND THE CLIENT'S WIFE, Arthur is a puppy basically, Drinking, Flirting, M/M, clients, drunk!Martin, references to alcoholism, the tiniest amount of slash that can fairly be called slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityCanFly/pseuds/GravityCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's favourite fandot is bundled off in Douglas's car to a client's party at a working men's club in Rugby. Not the most romantic of venues, you wouldn't think. You'd be right. </p><p>20,000 words later my Martin/Douglas slash series has the first hints of slash in it. But be warned, it starts slow.</p><p>Also the Knapp-Shappey-Shipwrights are like a little family and it's adorable I want a pet Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Drunk Mind

“Why did I agree to this?” Douglas groaned, watching Arthur climbing over Herc in the rear view mirror.

“Because I am your employer, Douglas,” Carolyn pointed out, strapping herself in. “You owe me.”

“How do I owe you?” Douglas scoffed.

“Without me, you would be a washed-up unemployed former pilot.”

“And without me, you would be bankrupt.”

“I’m practically bankrupt with you,” Carolyn muttered. “Alright boys, are you all in?”

“Yes mum!”

“Arthur dear boy, you’re sitting on my hand.”

“Sorry Herc!”

“You alright there, Martin?” Douglas purred.

“I’m fine, can we go?” Martin was pressed up against the door, Arthur obviously far too large to sit in the middle of the back seat but insistent.

“Remind me why we all had to go in _my_ car?”

“Because the rest of us would like to be able to have a drink, Douglas. And you make the perfect designated driver.”

“Unless I fall off the wagon, in which case you’d all be stuck.”

“That would rather be cutting off your nose to spite your face, wouldn’t it, old boy?” Herc’s voice came benignly from the back seat.

Douglas humphed. “You might tempt me, if you’re not careful.”

“Yellow car!”

“Shut up Arthur,” Douglas, Martin and Carolyn shouted in unison.

-

“Ah, MJN!” A portly man, younger than Douglas but older than Martin, greeted them. “Lovely to see you all. Ah!” He spotted Herc and held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Herc,” Herc smiled and took the offered hand. “I’m Carolyn’s partner.”

“Friend!” Carolyn interjected.

Herc smiled apologetically. “Partner,” he repeated firmly.

“Well, whatever you are, it’s lovely to have you here. Free bar, waiters circling, food over there. Enjoy yourselves!” The man moved off to greet the next arrivals.

“I’m shocked, Carolyn.” Herc watched the man leave. “He didn’t seem to hate, dislike, or harbour any homicidal feelings towards you. Have you not been doing your job?”

“Very funny, Hercules.”

“Mr. Brooks charters us for cargo flights,” Douglas explained. “Not flying with us himself has denied him the full MJN experience.”

“Lucky man. I’ll head to the bar, shall I? Red wine, darling?”

Carolyn narrowed her eyes at him as his smirk faded into the crowd.

-

“Douglas!” A glamorous woman sashayed into view, her satin jacket and pearls entirely at odds with the working men’s club venue.

“Jane,” Douglas purred in reply. He placed a hand on her waist and leant in to kiss her cheek. She left a bright pink smudge on his. “It’s lovely to see you again. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know me, Douglas,” she twinkled, her hand lingering on the first officer’s arm, “getting older every day.”

“Oh stop, you don’t look a day over forty.”

Jane giggled, leaning in towards Douglas as she did so. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Douglas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I had better up my game.”

There was a moments silence, as Jane explored Douglas’s face with her eyes, Douglas’s slight smile mirroring hers. The spell was broken when a hand fell on Jane’s arm.

“Oh, hello,” she smiled, turning away to greet the hand’s owner.

Douglas turned back to Martin, who had watched this exchange with an expression of bewilderment.

“Yes?”

“ _What_ was that?”

“Jane. Mr Brooks’ wife.”

“That was the _client’s wife_?” Martin gaped, incredulous.

“Yes. Nice lady. Holds something of a candle for me, I think.”

“ _Holds a candle_ \- Douglas, you were practically having sex right in front of me!”

“There’s no need to be vulgar, Martin. It was just a friendly chat.”

-

Douglas stood at the edge of the room, on the fringes, with his hands deep in his pockets. He watched as Herc tried to pull Carolyn onto the dance floor, a boyish grin across his face and a cheerful glint in her eyes beneath the scowl she wore. Arthur raced around the room, buzzing on sugar and alcohol, trying to make friends with everyone he saw but not staying still long enough to find out anyone’s name. Martin followed him around, wine glass in hand, apologising to the baffled trail of people left in Arthur’s wake. Occasionally, one of the women he passed would catch his eye and smile, and Martin would smile back, avert his gaze and keep moving. He really was hopeless, Douglas thought. Put him in a room of available women and he couldn’t even make eye contact with them.

A waitress appeared in front of Douglas and smiled coyly at him. She took a glass of wine from her tray and thrust it into his hands. He began to protest, but she had moved on and was flirting with a group of men at a neighbouring table. Douglas looked into the glass. He sniffed at it. It smelt like cheap chardonnay. Not something he ever would have drank, given half a choice, but now it was in his hands. He looked around. The entire room was drunk. Drunk and drinking, getting steadily more detached from reality. He looked back to the glass. His hand was shaking, creating little ripples in the surface of the wine.

He set the glass down on a nearby table and stepped outside.

-

The music and the sound of people having fun leaked from the building, evaporating into the night. Two young women fell out of the door, shrieking as they stumbled over one another. They walked past Douglas without noticing him, giggling as they lit each other’s cigarettes.

Douglas leant against the wall, the wind whistling around him. He dug his hands into his coat pockets and pulled it closer about him. For a moment he was wistful, remembering that at one time in his life he would have been the absolute centre of a party like this one. It wasn’t worth it, he reminded himself. Not at all. He shivered.

“Mate, you got a light?” A man stopped in front of him, leaning oddly to the left, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Douglas reached into his pocket and pulled out his zippo, handing it to the man wordlessly. “Cheers,” the man said, blowing smoke carelessly as he lit the cigarette. “Want one?”

Douglas paused, considering. Then he reached into the packet and withdrew one, lighting it expertly with the lighter the man handed back. “Thanks.”

He sucked slowly on the cigarette, feeling the smoke drift into him, fill up his lungs. He let the breath out again and watched the smoke dissipate into the air. He sank back against the wall, looking up at the stars, feeling the nicotine spreading through his veins. His hands stopped shaking. He took another drag. Probably the nicotine had nothing to do with it. He was a sucker for a ritual. He had never been the type to drink whisky out of the bottle. It was always decanted carefully into a tumbler, drank slowly, swirled round the tongue, no subtlety or complexity of flavour wasted. Well, the first two or three glassfuls were. After that, he couldn’t tell you. Another drag. He flicked the filter end of the cigarette. Ash shattered and sparks flew into the darkness and disappeared. Once an addict, he reminded himself.

He had just stubbed out the cigarette when Martin appeared looking decidedly worse for wear.

“Martin?”

“Douglas! I was looking for you…” Martin approached the older man, apparently misjudged the distance between them and walked straight into him.

“Do you think you’ve perhaps had a little too much to drink, Martin?” Douglas held Martin by the shoulders to prevent him falling, and stooped to look into his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his left eyelid drooped slightly more than the right.

“Arthur and I were -” Martin paused, looking for a moment like he might be sick. Douglas winced. He wished he hadn’t worn such a nice suit.

“You should know better than to drink with Arthur, he’s three times your size and you can’t tell when he’s drunk anyway.”

Martin hung his head, his hair brushing against Douglas’s chest. Douglas tightened his grip on his shoulders. “Douglas…” Martin moaned. He sounded half asleep. His hands reached up and settled on Douglas’s chest either side of his head. Somehow, they had crept inside the older man’s coat and now coiled themselves in the fabric of his jacket. “Mmm… Douglas…”

Douglas sighed heavily and moved one of his hands onto Martin’s back. Another contented moan came from the younger man. “Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”

-

“Oh, what’s this?” Herc appeared, holding the door open whilst Douglas half-dragged Martin inside.

“The captain seems to have had a little more than he can handle.”

“Here.” Herc grabbed a chair and pulled it into the corridor that led to the toilets. “Have a little sit down, Martin.”

Douglas lowered Martin into the chair. He straightened up, still keeping a hand firmly on Martin’s shoulder. “Right, if you stay with him, Herc, I’ll go and find some water.”

“No!” Martin cried. He grabbed at Douglas’s free hand. “Douglas.” He spoke the name like it was a statement.

Douglas cast Martin an astonished look. Herc chuckled. “I’ll get the water then.”

Douglas watched Herc leave, still utterly baffled by Martin’s behaviour. Then he noticed that the younger man was stroking his wrist with his thumb. He tried to pull his hand away, but Martin would not let go. He just sat there, moving his thumb in slow circles, a tiny smile on his lips. Douglas sighed.

Herc reappeared after a moment, holding a pint of water in his hand and dragging another chair behind him.

“Thanks, Herc. Can you gather up the others?”

Herc mock gasped. “You’re not thinking of leaving, Douglas? Absolutely not! I am going to have a dance with Carolyn tonight, and nothing will stop me. Not even Carolyn,” he added with a wink. “You look after the young captain here, we’ll find you when we’re ready to go.”

Ignoring Douglas’s infuriated glare Herc disappeared back into the party with a wave.

-

It was relatively quiet in the corridor. Music blared from the hall to their left, mixed up with laughter and shouting. Opposite them windows looked out over the car park and what was probably a local football club. Small squares of golden light in the darkness were windows into other parties like theirs. People passed them every few seconds on their way to or from the bathrooms, giving them pitying looks or giggling, if they noticed them at all.

A weight settled on his shoulder. He looked down to see Martin’s thatch of ginger-blond hair. The younger man curled in on himself, nestling into his side. Douglas raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?”

“’mbitdrunk,” Martin mumbled into Douglas’s jacket.

“I can see that,” Douglas said with a smile. “Are you feeling sick?”

Martin shook his head, his hair catching in the 5 o’clock shadow on Douglas’s neck. Douglas gently extricated his arm from beneath his captain’s body and laid it over the back of Martin’s chair. Martin responded by cuddling closer against him.

-

“Hi chaps!” Arthur announced his presence in the corridor with his usual cheery greeting. “Oh!” he stopped short a few feet away. “Sorry… I’ll just…” he gestured back down towards the party and turned away.

“What? Come back, Arthur!”

Arthur turned back, eyes on his shoes.

“What’s the matter? Come here.”

Arthur’s eyes moved up to meet Douglas’s then flicked away again. “You’re…” he pointed vaguely towards the pilots, “You’re all… together. I’m not meant to interrupt.”

Douglas stared at the young man in astonishment, then glanced down at the man curled up half in his lap in realisation. “No!” he said, “No, Arthur, we’re not…” he paused. “Martin’s had a bit too much to drink, that’s all.”

“Oh, right…” Arthur looked sceptical for a moment, then brightened. “Herc sent me to check on you.”

“How kind of him,” Douglas muttered.

“Do you need anything?”

“Actually, I think we should get Martin home soon.”

“Oh, sorry Douglas,” Arthur said plainly, still smiling.

Douglas waited for an explanation as to what exactly Arthur was sorry for. When none came he prompted him: “Yes?”

“Oh, it’s just Herc said you’d say that, and he said to say that…” he stopped, thinking, then continued: “he said ‘tell that old miser-’” Arthur was silenced by a stern look from Douglas. He laughed nervously. “Um, he said we’re not going home yet.”

“Has it occurred to anyone that it is _my car_ we shall all eventually go home in?”

“Yes, he said you’d say that too and to tell you that you should have more respect for mum and…and…” he screwed up his face trying to remember. “And something.”

“I. Have. _Plenty_. Of Respect. For your mother.” Douglas growled.

“Oh!” Arthur said, startled. “Good! I’ll tell him then.”

-

The number of people in the corridor died down a little after 11 o’clock, when the band started playing. Douglas had asked Martin if he fancied going in to watch, but the captain seemed to have lost the power of speech and was reluctant to move, so they stayed put.

Douglas was bored but not sorry to be missing out. This stage of a party was only fun if you were the correct level of drunk - somewhere between where Martin was right now and where Douglas had been for the last fourteen years. He let out a long sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispered.

“Hm?”

“I’m ruining the party.”

“I assure you, Martin, I am having precisely as much fun as I ever would at this party.”

Martin pulled himself up to look Douglas in the eye, his hands resting on Douglas’s chest to keep himself upright. “Why do you always do that?” he asked.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask, “do what?” when Martin leant forward and placed his lips against his. He kissed him gently, then dropped his head back onto his shoulder.

Douglas froze. That was not what he expected. He could have come up with three or four hundred possible scenarios for the evening before he would have suggested one in which Martin kissed him. Within that number would have been nuclear holocaust, Arthur being abducted by a dragon, and him kissing Martin.

He was oddly aware of his lips. Where the warmth of Martin’s had been against them they felt heavy and tingly. He ran his tongue over them experimentally, seeing if they had actually changed. As the initial shock wore off, another wave of surprise rolled over him as he realised that he hadn’t entirely disliked it. He looked down at his captain and wondered if there was any truth in that old adage that the drunk mind does as the sober heart desires.


	2. The Sober Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Martin's sober heart is nervous as hell.   
> Bit of an atmosphere change in this chapter.   
> It turns out it's not easy to make Douglas and Martin do this bit. They're like repelling magnets in my mind as I try to push them together!

Douglas was stretched out in his seat, legs stuck out in front of him, hands folded beneath his head. He was completely relaxed. If the passengers were aware that the first officer was only capable of reaching this state of relaxation whilst piloting an aircraft at 25,000 feet they may have felt slightly unsafe. But they were not aware, so whilst no one ever felt particularly safe flying in G-ERTI, they felt safe enough. And they were safe enough, with Martin at the controls. They were flying at a steady speed at a steady altitude and in a straight line, after all. Even Martin Crieff was unlikely to get that wrong.

Douglas rolled his head lazily to the side to take in his captain. Martin was definitely not relaxed. He sat stiffly, his spine dead straight. He was so tense and unmoving he looked almost non-human, except for the pulsing of a muscle working in his temple. His pale complexion lent itself quite well to pretending to be a statue, Douglas considered. He had the sort of porcelain skin that shines. Its glossy finish was spoilt by a handful of freckles across his nose and cheeks, but that could be put down to an unconventional artistic choice. One that worked rather well, in Douglas’s opinion.

Martin had been doing his statue impression a lot recently. He had been alternating between that and being very nervous and jumpy, unable to sit still. It was almost as if his allocation of kinetic energy had been altered. He still had the same amount he always did, but he only had access to it for short periods.

When Douglas proposed a game, Martin stiffly reminded him that it was unprofessional, and that he needed to focus on flying the plane. When he had proposed a wager, Martin had ignored him outright. When he had stood and brushed past, Martin had jumped three feet in the air and landed with a bump.

After a week, Douglas was no longer amused by this strange behaviour. He was bored. He wanted his captain back. He wanted a little light relief in the flight deck. He wanted friendly chatter over the breakfast table. He even - though he would never admit it - missed the way Martin used to kick off his boots in the hall and then collapse on the sofa and rant about his van jobs whilst Douglas was plainly trying to read. He felt like there was a ghost in his home and his aeroplane and it was growing tiresome.

-

Martin hadn’t remembered the night of the party. He had woken up and rolled out of bed at some stage the next day, appeared briefly to moan about how awful he felt, and then vanished again to do some vomiting. He spent the day floating listlessly about the house, variously damning Douglas for having too many windows, listening to the radio, and for turning the pages of his book too loudly and too often. Douglas had laughed at that last one and warned Martin that sympathy for self-inflicted pain had a limit. Martin had accepted, begrudgingly, and buried his head in the sofa cushions.

The day after that, finally with sufficient fluid in his tissues, he had apologised. When asked what for he explained that he was sorry for everything: for being a miserable bastard (“check,” Douglas had grinned), for getting embarrassingly drunk, for possibly throwing up on Douglas or in Douglas’s car or…

“Oh,” Douglas piped up, interrupting the endless list. “So you don’t remember?”

“Remember what? Oh god, was I sick in your car?”

“You really don’t remember. Don’t worry, you weren’t sick in my car.”

Martin waited for more. “But…?” he prompted, when more didn’t come.

“But what?”

“But I’m forgetting something. What?”

“You’re forgetting lots of things, probably. Do you remember Arthur trying a ‘Sex on the Beach’?”

Martin frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“If you remembered, you’d know. He considered at length - and at volume - that sex on the beach would be uncomfortable because of the sand.”

Martin’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m sure Carolyn loved that.”

“Yes. Herc suggested a pebble beach and Arthur opined that pebbles weren’t comfortable to lie on. Herc was going to say something else but found an elbow in his ribs. Not mine. Nor, indeed, yours.”

“Oh,” Martin breathed.

“Do you remember meeting a lady named Sarah and telling her you were an airline pilot? And then telling her you were only an airline pilot in the same way that the woman from _Come Outside_ was an airline pilot?”

Martin shook his head.

“So I don’t suppose you remember kissing me, either.”

Martin took a moment to unravel this sentence. He took a longer moment to glue it back together again. Then he gaped.

Douglas watched with half a smile on his lips as Martin’s face changed through a rainbow of emotions, not one of them translating into any words. He swung from stunned to disbelieving to blankness. There followed a dawning realisation and then finally humiliation. His face turned beetroot. He staggered to his feet, mumbled something about having work to do, and fled.

That was when the ghost impression started. Douglas had expected him to be embarrassed, had anticipated a little ribbing and a few jokes at Martin’s expense. He knew Martin would react emotionally to the revelation, but he had thought that he would be able to bring him round. That was his trick, wasn’t it? His greatest skill. He could always bring people round. Have them eating out of his hand. But not Martin. Not this time.

-

This was beyond a joke. They sat at dinner in the hotel in silence. Martin ate wordlessly and expressionlessly. Douglas glowered over the table, finally angry with Martin for his behaviour, angry with himself for not being able to fix it, and angry with Arthur and Carolyn for simply being nearby whilst he was angry. Carolyn glanced up occasionally, as if considering making conversation, but always sighed and returned to her food. Even Arthur was rendered silent by the atmosphere.

After thirty painful minutes Martin placed his napkin on the table, stood, addressed Carolyn and left. Carolyn let out a long breath and turned to Douglas, hoping that she might now get some conversation, but her first officer was staring after her captain with an expression on his face that was worryingly close to a snarl. Before she could speak his name he had leapt out of his seat and was heading after the younger pilot.

-

“Martin,” Douglas panted, catching up to him in the corridor.

Martin spun round. “What?” he asked, his eyes darting left and right as if looking for an escape route.

“How long is this going to last?”

“What?”

“This. Avoiding me, not talking. Being so bloody weird all the time.”

Martin swallowed. “Does it matter?” he asked. He spoke defiantly but his eyes were wide. He looked suddenly scared and insecure. He always possessed a child-like quality - it was one of the reasons no one ever believed he could be a captain, he always just looked like the work experience boy - but now he looked positively tiny. Infantile.

“Of course it matters!” Douglas exploded. “I thought we were friends!”

Silence followed this unexpected display of emotion. Douglas swallowed thickly before speaking again: “I… I mean… Aren’t we?” It was Douglas’s turn now to turn his gaze on his feet and clench his jaw. This felt deeply unfamiliar. Weak.

“Are we?”

“Well we live together. And we work together. And we don’t often want to kill each other. And…” Douglas glanced up at Martin and then away again, “And I never said I didn’t enjoy it.”

Martin blinked. “Enjoy what?” he asked slowly.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Martin.”

Douglas raised his head again and stepped towards Martin. Slowly, and making eye contact, he closed the space between them. He gave Martin every chance to protest or move away, but he did not, so he leant down and placed his lips on his.

It was quick. It was barely even really a kiss, but the intent was there and the message was clear. Douglas pulled back and looked Martin carefully in the eye. “Alright?” he asked.

Martin nodded. He still wore his slightly shell-shocked expression, but his body was visibly less tense. His tongue crept out of his mouth and over his lips. His eyes met Douglas’s.

“We’re even.”

“Okay,” Martin breathed. “Even.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honesty hour: I'm not totally happy with this. Writing hasn't been going well recently, health and life and stuff making it hard. I _like_ the ending, but I don't know about the general feel of it and if it really feels finished. A lot of my second chapters have been like this and it's something I really need to work on. Practice makes better! (because perfection is unattainable) 
> 
> Feedback is especially appreciated on this chapter because I feel really really unsure about it.   
> Thanks lovely readers! <3
> 
> Oh, also, _Come Outside_ is an old BBC children's television programme featuring a lady and her dog who fly around in a light aircraft. Obviously.   
>  Here's an episode appropriate for the current weather: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqNTJXi_HtA

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, okay I really like Douglas being presented with alcohol and still not knowing quite what to do about it.  
> I also really like lighthearted references to Douglas's past, even though I know it's not supported by canon. I like to think that maybe Herc has told Carolyn some stories about the Douglas he used to know. Douglas isn't allowed to keep his walls up so high anymore. 
> 
> Next chapter... Realistic aim? Two weeks from now. Next Thursday if you're bloody lucky but the following one is more likely.  
> Waking up the next day with one hell of a hangover, will Martin even remember the night before? And does Douglas want him to?


End file.
